


The Lab Rat

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Make it Worse [5]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Duct Tape, Episode: s14e01 The Devil and D.B. Russell, Gen, Greg Sanders Whump, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: AU to The Devil and DB Russell, where Greg runs head first into that storage unit and it costs him.
Series: Make it Worse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978048
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Lab Rat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gregszandles (JeffersonStarship)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeffersonStarship/gifts).



> cause I saw a gifset and got the thought...what if we made it whumpier?

He knew he should have waited for back up. 

He was desperate, running on pure adrenaline as he charged into the building, his speed outweighing his caution as he carelessly handled his firearm in one hand, and a flashlight in the other. 

The next few moments would be an absolute whirlwind of action, and he wonders if Morgan had felt the nauseating dread of the dizzying blur of action when she had gotten taken as well.

He entered the maze of storage units, hyper-focusing on any door that was open even just a few inches--and to his luck, he found one that was wide open, just a few doors down from the entrance. He charged towards it, foolishly thinking it would be that easy, that he could just find Morgan there, in a state of distress but not a fatal one, one where he could save her and things could return to normal, to safety. No more dress up. No more staking out. No more making decisions that are just so painfully stupid he wondered why they went along with them in the first place. The guilt manifesting as his anger towards the suspect, towards Nick, towards _himself_ lead to a moment of weakness, oblivious to the fact that the door on the opposite side of the hall was opened just enough for his ankles to be grabbed. His body was immediately pulled to the hard concrete, his nose slamming down, distracting him from making any noise louder than the soft groan as body began to slide backwards into complete darkness, away from the blinding light of his flashlight that had rolled in front of his eyes. He held on to whatever he could, but it was useless, the only object still in his grasp was his gun, though if he had a choice between a weapon and a light beacon, going with the former gave him an ounce of comfort in the face of the unknown, as he was sealed into a void with seemingly nothing but himself and the invisible force that wrestled his limbs and crumbled him into a ball.

He thought he could hear Nick’s voice shouting for him, his own responding shout rose in his throat, but before the words could escape his lips, they were caught by the suffocating adhesive of a piece of masking tape. His muffled protests were beat down by repeated blows to his face, his fingers fumbling for the gun that he _knew_ he wasn’t handling correctly, and that was a mistake which cost him--it was easily wrestled out of his hand and shoved into his temple. 

Maybe he should have went with the flashlight after all. 

_“Keep quiet, or_ _she dies,”_ a warning hiss slithered into his ear. He continued to struggle, but was quickly exhausted in his impatience as his eyes didn’t seem to adjust to the darkness--he briefly wondered how his assailant could see, themselves. He once again heard Nick calling for him, less ferociously and more...pleading. He felt his heart sink, dammit, he should have waited for him. He should have put aside his anger at the man’s dumb, but valid call--though he still couldn’t help but darkly think about how this was all _Nick’s_ fault. If they had just picked up Morgan like he suggested, neither of them would be in this situation. 

“Call it in,” he could hear Nick command, presumably to the back up that he would have brought with him. “DB...DB we got a situation. Greg’s gone.”

Nick’s voice echoed and Greg’s ears perked up, the corner of his lips budged in an attempt to smile under the tape--he still had his radio, Nick would hear the reverb of his own voice, see the flashlight on the ground, put two and two together cause even though he had a thick head, there was a thick brain underneath it, too, Greg’s heart pounded against his chest as, despite the gun against his head and the arm wrapped around his throat, that if he made enough noise Nick would shine his light in the darkness and find him, and save him, and then they could find and save Morgan--

“Gone? What do you mean _gone?”_

“I-I don’t know, he ran into this...storage unit a-and he’s just gone, vanished. All I got is his flashlight.”

His flashlight, which was most likely still on the ground pointing towards his plight, unbeknownst to Nick.

“And not just that, we got a body. It’s not Morgan.”

“Alright. Just sit tight. We’re on our way.”

He heard a loud thump against the door, he could envision Nick slamming his fist against it in frustration. 

The next few moments were spent in an uncomfortable silence, with the chatter and chrips from the uniformed officer’s radio fading out, while Nick’s loud breathing came to a shuddering, sudden halt. Greg wondered what the endgame was, as soon enough the whole building would be flooded with officers, and what came next would certainly not be on his list of expected outcomes. 

He felt his the flesh that constricted his throat slowly loosen, his nostrils flared as his body was lifted up from the ground to a standing position, slowly moved forward, the nuzzle of the gun still pressed against his throbbing temple. He thought back to the collapsible horse toy he played as a kid as he made his legs as limp as he could, to make it at least somewhat difficult to his attacker as they awkwardly maneuvered. He thought his body was being dropped again for a moment, before weight was shifted and he was stood up straight, and the door rolled up along with him.

Nick barely had time to react as the gun was removed from Greg’s head and targeted at his chest. Greg quickly registered the shock on Nick’s face that mirrored his own wide, terrified eyes as no words were exchanged to break the silence, just the explosion of gunpowder as the trigger of Greg’s own firearm was pulled, setting off a series of events that didn’t seem to have an end.

Greg screamed beneath the tape as the button on the toy that would make the plastic horse die--as a toddler Greg had always wailed--was pressed, and Nick collapsed to the ground. 

His arms and legs flailed, suddenly wishing he was bigger and thicker, like the mass of flesh that used to be Nick Stokes was, as he was easily manhandled back into submission, dragged away and into another unit right before a flood of officers stormed into the narrow hallway--but his heart sank when he found that it wasn’t just another unit, it was another hallway, and somehow the sea of officers weren’t fast enough as the hall came to an abrupt end, and he exited the nightmarish maze of identical sliding doors and into the boot of a car, slammed into another void of darkness as he couldn’t shake two images out of his head, one of Morgan, tied and gagged and tearful as he was, and the other of Nick, arms and legs bent like a useless, _lifeless_ rag doll. 

He felt like a mixture of both of them put together, utterly helpless as he couldn’t help but wish he had never transferred into the field.

Then again, he supposed, he still was, in a morbid sense of the name, a _lab rat,_ to test the limits of human will, to put through trials and studied.

To be experimented on. 


End file.
